Double or Nothing
by wordwolf
Summary: The Source of All Evil: cool guy or boss from Hell? Dr. Christian Troy: lost sinner or lucky dude? The Angel of Death: invincible dreaded force or boy next door? We report, you decide when Charmed meets NipTuck meets Touched By an Angel...


DOUBLE OR NOTHING 

(Charmed – Nip/Tuck – Touched by an Angel)

DISCLAIMERS: Charmed is the creation/property of Constance M. Burge and Aaron Spelling, Nip/Tuck of Ryan Murphy, and Touched by an Angel of John Milius and Martha Williamson. Used without permission. No copyright infringement intended.

"Mirror Man" written and recorded by the Human League. Used without permission. No copyright infringement intended.

SPOILERS: Charmed season 4, Nip/Tuck season 2. (If you're reading this, no doubt you're aware of said details already.)

Rated PG. And away we go...

DOUBLE OR NOTHING

(Charmed – Nip/Tuck – Touched by an Angel)

by wordwolf

San Francisco was deep into the mysterious light of the blue hour as three figures appeared on the street in front of the stately old mansion. The eldest of them looked up at the house, drawing the attention of the two young ones. "Halliwell Manor," she explained in a mighty alto. "A lot has been happening in and around here in the last few years. Maybe too much." She gave a snort. "Some people just attract more than their share of trouble."

"And how are we supposed to help them, Tess?" The younger woman gazed eagerly upward, anticipation in her musical Irish lilt.

The heavy, maternal black woman turned to her companion with a smile. "Oh, we're not here to help THEM, angel girl. Those three are fully equipped to handle themselves – or would be with just a little more common sense. See, we have a little emergency to take care of, and any interference could confuse matters. So, Monica, you're going to head up to that house there, and keep the three young ladies inside busy until Andrew here finishes doing his part. Oh, and by the way, they're witches."

Monica looked startled and apprehensive. "Witches?"

"The good kind, honey. And all you have to do is keep 'em at home talking until Andrew gets back."

It was time for the blond young man on the other side of Tess to show his interest. "Until I get back from where?"

Tess' smile broadened with secret humor. "Now that's the fun part..."

XX

Something was very wrong. He was lying on a cold, roughened surface, hard and unyielding, his limbs uncovered. What the hell had happened to his bed? And the woman who'd been in it with him?

Christian Troy was about to open his eyes and get to the bottom of this when he heard the voices. Instinctively he froze, trying not to attract attention to himself. There were two of them, both male, both rough and thuggish, and he didn't like what they were saying.

"So we kill him now? And dump the body in their house?"

"No, you idiot!" There was the sound of flesh smacking flesh, and a yelp. "We take him there alive and kill him where the Charmed Ones can watch! And then we get out of there FAST before they get over the shock and do something to vanquish us. And after that, Phoebe Halliwell cries and arranges a funeral – and leaves our master alone at last, because she'll be convinced that Cole Turner is dead."

The other one still sounded dubious. "But how do we take credit for it?"

"Take CREDIT for it?!" Another smack and yelp, both louder this time. "Do you want our master the Source to incinerate us? We swear each other to eternal secrecy, and hope we rise in his service when things get back to normal down here."

"Oh. Oh, of course. I knew that."

Slowly Troy opened his eyes, moving nothing else. He didn't want those two, whoever they were, to notice he was awake.

It was pretty dark, but not too dark to tell that he was lying in a cave, on a floor of unpolished black granite. The chill of the stone was seeping into his limbs, which were bare; he wore only the underwear he'd gone to bed in. No sign of the lingerie model he'd gone to bed with. What light there was, flaring and lurid, seemed to be coming from torches and candles scattered around the cave. Not far from his face he saw a scrim of thick black bars, probably iron, reaching the floor. Between two of those bars peered a thin face, pale yellow in the torchlight, with huge reddish eyes and protruding snaggled teeth. When he – or it – noticed that Troy was awake, the corners of its lipless mouth twitched upward in a smile. Not knowing how else to react, Troy smiled uncertainly back. The odd little being nodded its head and scuttled away into the shadows.

Now Troy rolled his eyes in the direction of the voices. They were just within his range of vision: two big, apish-looking men in long gray coats. The larger was growling, "M'riri, you're pathetic. Why not just admit you're a fool and leaving the thinking to me?"

The smaller – only slightly smaller at that – let out a growl of his own. "Be careful, Rimmon! No one insults me and lives!"

"Lives for less than a hundred years, you mean?"

Before Troy's astonished eyes, the other man transformed. The coat over his frame suddenly vanished; his muscles bulked and swelled, his skin reddening to the scarlet of a boiled lobster, a web of black lines scarring his face and now-hairless skull. His mouth gaped wide, studded with gleaming fangs. In response, the bigger man transformed too, into a larger creature seemingly of the same species. They roared at each other, flashing immense teeth in obvious dominance display, daring each other to strike first in the ancient, wordless language of the jungle.

And Troy relaxed, allowing himself to sit up and watch the show. It was obvious that there was not a thing to worry about; he was only dreaming. Funny that he'd just read an article about this sort of thing in last Sunday's _Herald. _When a dream was this vivid, and the dreamer seemed to have some measure of control as he did now, the psychologists called it "lucid dreaming," and claimed that it could actually be learned as a skill. As for the content, dreams were assembled out of the memories, sensory impressions, and anxieties of the dreamer. Obviously these two red-and-black goons were left over from a viewing of _Star Wars: The Phantom Menace_.

What was that other theory the article had mentioned, the psychoanalytic one? Oh, that all the characters and elements in a dream represented different aspects of the dreamer himself. It'd be interesting to figure out just what facet of Christian Troy could be symbolized by a couple of huge crimson monsters.

Suddenly others were approaching. Troy heard first the scuttling of the small character that was the first he'd seen in the dream, then a solid, soldierly tread behind it. There was also a voice, one as authoritative as the stride: "I warn you, if you're wasting my time, I'll blast you into bits too small to make dust!"

"Oh no, Sire, I would never dare disturb my lord except for a matter of vast importance. And there's one right in that cell over there!" The wizened, scuttling little fellow, about the size of a ten-year-old child, rounded the corner and waved his hand in a grand gesture at Troy. The two scarlet creatures stopped threatening each other and went silent, quickly transforming themselves back into their clothed human forms.

The commanding tread and voice rounded the corner; their possessor noticed the two who had just changed. "So, Rimmon, M'riri. I understand you have something for me?"

Their faces went blank with terror; Troy heard two loud gulping sounds. There was no other sound or motion for a moment, until the new arrival turned toward the bars and looked through.

He gasped and stared at Troy in utter incredulity. Troy sat up straight and stared back through the bars in equal astonishment.

Each was looking into the face of his exact double.

Of course they weren't dressed the same. Troy was down to his silk tank shirt and boxers; the other wore an elegant long black coat over close-fitting black turtleneck and slacks. But otherwise they matched perfectly. Once over the original shock, Troy felt a wide smile break over his face. Those shrinks weren't making it up when they said that the elements of a dream reflected aspects of the dreamer!

The other stared for a moment more, then reflected the same smile. He waved a hand, and the bars shot upward and vanished into the darkness above. Next he extended that hand, walking into the area that had been Troy's cell. "Welcome! Name's Cole Turner."

Troy came to his feet and accepted the hand. "Christian Troy."

Turner's smile widened. "We've even got the same initials! How cool is that?"

Judging from the expressions on Rimmon and M'riri, they didn't think it was cool at all. But when Turner turned to look at them, they plastered big sticky grins across their faces. "It's a very interesting coincidence, Sire," answered the bigger one, Rimmon.

"Very interesting. Do we have a dossier on this guy? I'd like to see it." Their master turned back to Troy, and his tone became jovial. "So, I actually do have a double. I've always wanted one."

What does one say in a dream this nutty? Troy was having entirely too much fun going with the flow. "I can understand that, Mr. Turner."

"Please, call me Cole. Things are always so formal down here; we could use some lightening up. I'm not crazy about that name of yours, though; mind if I call you Chris?"

"Not at all."

"Great. Anybody have that dossier yet?" The small scuttler minced forward carrying a thick roll of vellum and offered it to the black-clad man. "Oh, a big one. Quite promising." Turner unrolled the scroll from the top. "Says here you're a plastic surgeon in Miami. A career catering mostly to vanity and superficiality, in a city that thrives on the same."

Troy shrugged, his smile turning a little sheepish. "You know how it is."

"Oh, do I ever! Favorite leisure activities... let's see... women, women, cocaine, shopping for designer everything, women, marijuana, and women. Nice. Godfather to business partner's son...took the boy to his first whorehouse." Turner was beaming as he looked up from the scroll toward Rimmon and M'riri. "This is absolutely FABULOUS! How did you two bumbling morons manage to find this guy?"

"Maybe we're not such – " Rimmon quickly shut M'riri up with a sharp elbow to the ribs.

But Turner had returned his attention to Troy's dossier. "It says here you slept with your best friend's fiancee on the eve of their wedding! And with her mother on the wedding day! I don't like it, I LOVE it." Turner rolled the scroll back up with just a flick of his wrist. "You know, Chris, you are exactly what I'm looking for on my team. How'd you like a job as my body double?"

"Uh – a job?" The dream was taking an even crazier turn. _It'd take a month of therapy to figure out what I'm trying to tell myself here, _Troy thought.

"Yes. As the Source of All Evil, I'm a very busy man, and it'd be useful to have a reputation for appearing in two places at once. You'd like it, too; the perks are great. Everyone bowing and scraping, calling you lord and master and sire, and all the females hoping you'll notice them." He leered; Troy felt a little uncomfortable with the familiarity of the look. "I know you couldn't do this and remain mortal, so we can process you into one of us. And I'll see to it that you get beefed up with some high-level powers, so you don't get vanquished easily when some underling gets delusions of grandeur."

"Sounds... cool?" Troy replied with a shrug. Who knew where this dream would go?

"Trust me, you'll get into it." Turner addressed his followers again. "I expect you two to persuade him to accept my offer."

"What do we do, Sire?" asked M'riri in a tone a little above a whimper.

"Whatever it takes. Offer him more money and women than he gets already. Put a spell on him. Hit him with a stick until he gives in. You'll think of something." With that, Turner strode off through the firelit cave, singing to himself. Troy caught a snatch, recognized it and almost hummed along.

"You know I'll change if change is what you require

Your every wish, your every dream, hope, desire

Here comes the mirror man,

Says he's a people fan,

Here comes the mirror man!"

Troy watched him go._ Amazing. Looks exactly like me, walks the same walk, AND remembers the Human League. _

XX

Andrew appeared in the caverns of the Underworld, and none barred the way. He walked by his own light, knowing exactly where to find his objective. The special warmth of living human flesh blazed through the air of the nether regions like a small sun, and Andrew tracked it easily.

There he was, a living man somehow taken to these regions forbidden to all but the demonic and the dead. And there was an upper-level demon to either side of him, trying to back him up against the wall of the cave. But if anything, Christian Troy seemed to be enjoying himself. Andrew was not surprised; the angels never underestimated the power of denial, and that power was definitely holding sway here.

Andrew stepped out into the open cavern and advanced on the three. Rimmon and M'riri looked up. First they were startled, then frozen in fear; finally, after a very long moment, they assumed their demon forms.

Their first growls had barely gotten out of their throats when Andrew merely glanced at them. Both demons went up in blasts of light and vanished, annihilated. He stepped between where they had been and addressed a wondering Christian Troy. "Come with me, Dr. Troy. It's time to return."

"Return?"

"To where you belong." Andrew smiled reassuringly. "Be honest. You really don't want to remain down here, do you?"

"No, I guess not."

"Then come with me," he repeated, extending his hand, his smile even softer. Troy found himself smiling back, a feeling of relief warming his heart in spite of himself. He stepped forward, reaching for the hand.

Both recoiled, pulling their hands back as a geyser of fire erupted between them. The flames dropped and disappeared as quickly as they'd risen, leaving in their place the Source of All Evil, dividing man from angel.

The Source turned the glowering face of Cole Turner against Andrew. "What are you doing here, Psychopomp? This is my domain; you have no power here!"

Andrew's smile remained in place, but cooled and took on an edge. "On the contrary, Dark One. It is you who have no power anywhere, except for what your Creator permits you for His purposes."

Turner's face fell, and for a moment there was only silence. He spoke reluctantly. "I can't argue with you there, Psychopomp. But your function is to come here bearing the dead; you may never take away! This man is mine."

"This man is alive, Dark One, and was not brought here by one of us. It was your servants who brought him, against all laws of God and man. He belongs among the living, and to the living I return him." Andrew, the Angel of Death, stepped around the Source and took Troy's hand.

There was a deep sigh. "Then take him. But I know his measure!" Turner's voice perked up. "Eventually you'll be bringing him back down here to me, and to stay. It's only a matter of time."

Andrew shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Perhaps. In the meantime, our side will be doing what we can to change that. The game continues."

The other returned the look of mischief. "Always, the game continues. Go in peace, Psychopomp."

As Troy followed the blond boy, he asked, "Your name is Psychopomp?"

"My name is Andrew. 'Psychopomp' is a professional title."

"What's it mean?"

"Soul guide." Once out of the main cavern, Andrew stopped, Troy with him. A soft light began to rise around them, and their surroundings faded out of focus. Before they vanished silently from the cave, Troy's last thought was: _This is SO freaky..._

XX

"... So that's what we do." Piper Halliwell raised both hands in a gesture of summation. "Like they say, it's a dirty job but someone has to do it."

"And that someone is us," put in her half-sister Paige Matthews. "Thanks to the Power of Three."

"Very interesting," answered their guest with sincerity, smiling over her teacup. "In much the same way, my colleagues and I rely on the Power of One." Inwardly Monica was grateful for her ability to draw people out and get them to confide in her; she had a feeling that she might have the power even if she were merely human.

That was when Phoebe Halliwell checked her watch. "I should be getting home. Cole said he'd be delayed, but I didn't think he'd be THIS delayed... "

Suddenly a column of light descended into the parlor of Halliwell Manor, and resolved itself into a man. Piper trotted over to kiss him. "Hi, Leo." She turned back to the guest. "Monica, I'd like you to meet – "

But it seemed as if no introductions were needed. Leo Wyatt stared at Monica with wide, astonished eyes, motionless. "OH WOW," the Whitelighter gasped.

Piper glanced between them. "You two know each other?"

"Not exactly," Leo replied with a smile, "but I know she comes from the steps of the Throne." He approached Monica as she extended her hand, and he bowed over it. "My lady."

"Thank you, Mr. Wyatt," said Monica graciously, mirroring the smile. "You should be very proud of your work."

"The steps of the Throne?" Paige peered at Monica. "I thought you came from Ireland."

That was when they heard the knock at the door. All three sisters hurried over to answer it; two men were standing there, one looking very familiar. "Cole!" exclaimed Phoebe, delighted to see the man she thought was her fiance.

"Not exactly," said the other man, the young blond one. "Just a remarkable resemblance. This gentleman is actually a plastic surgeon from Miami."

As the young ladies were digesting this, Andrew put a hand on his charge's shoulder. "It's time for me to bring Dr. Troy back where he belongs. Monica, we have to go."

As the house and lawn began to shimmer and fade around him and the angels, the plastic surgeon in question smiled at full power at the Charmed Ones. "If any of you ladies ever find yourselves in Miami, please be sure to look me up..."

XX

"Christian? Christian, are you asleep?"

_What kind of answer does anyone expect to THAT question?_ Christian Troy quickly pushed down his annoyance with the petulant voice, rolled over across his bed, and blearily opened his eyes. "Not anymore."

The girl was standing beside the bed, wrapped in his bathrobe, her hair wet from the shower. "I thought you were NEVER getting up. And where were you in the middle of the night, anyway?"

He sat up, bewildered. "What do you mean, where was I? Right here, having one hell of a dream. Where do you think I was?"

"Well, do you sleepwalk, then? 'Cause I got up around midnight and hadda use the john. You weren't in the bed."

"Sure, I sneaked out in the dead of night and caught the redeye to San Francisco or something. Please." Troy shook his head in a mix of amusement and annoyance. These bimbos were good for a bit of fun, but soon enough their low mental wattage became exasperating. He'd ask this one to leave in a little while... just as soon as he remembered her name.

END


End file.
